


All the Rivers and Trees and Crumbling Walls

by borealowl



Series: Four Cups of Wine and related stories [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anxiety, Jewish Good Omens (Good Omens), M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sometimes you just have to cite the Talmud, Very Jewish, but also talking things out with friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:40:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22580377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/borealowl/pseuds/borealowl
Summary: When he and Aziraphale revealed what and who they really were, and told the whole story of the Garden, from their respective arrivals to the very first storm, Crowley hadn’t known how Naomi and Yael would react. He’d steeled himself against rejection, anger, even fear. He hadn’t expected laughter.He probably should have.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Four Cups of Wine and related stories [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1605910
Comments: 60
Kudos: 373





	All the Rivers and Trees and Crumbling Walls

**Author's Note:**

  * For [boygothic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/boygothic/gifts).



> Written for Boygothic, who gave me the prompt: "I'd love to see how Naomi and Yael and Miriam react right after it ends!"
> 
> Two explanatory notes [here](https://archiveofourown.org/comments/279322183).

When he and Aziraphale revealed what and who they really were, and told the whole story of the Garden, from their respective arrivals to the very first storm, Crowley hadn’t known how Naomi and Yael would react. He’d steeled himself against rejection, anger, even fear. He hadn’t expected laughter.

He probably should have.

He watches the two women laugh, their daughter giggling at their reaction, and he exchanges a bemused look with Aziraphale. It’s certainly better than any of the reactions he had feared, but it’s also a bit insulting.

“I didn’t think it was _that_ funny,” he grumbles, sounding more petulant than he’d intended.

Naomi bites her lip and Yael takes a deep breath, obviously trying to calm down.

“Sorry, Crowley,” Naomi says. “It’s just…”

“It’s not at all what we were expecting,” says Yael.

“It’s kind of the opposite of what we were expecting,” adds Naomi, “By which I mean that we’d considered this possibility and dismissed it out of hand.” She scowls in mock-annoyance. “My mental image of what makes an angel was clearly off.”

Crowley winces.

“We’re laughing at ourselves, Crowley,” Yael says. “In retrospect, we missed some very obvious clues.” 

“And it’s cute!” says Naomi.

“Cute?!” Crowley is mildly outraged.

“I mean, how you met. It’s a cute story.”

“We’re not trying to call _you_ cute, Crowley. We know that’s a four-letter word,” Yael adds with a smile. The reference to their long-running joke calms him down a bit, which is probably Yael’s intent. Everyone’s a bit tense right now. With the possible exception of Miriam, who mostly looks sleepy.

There’s a long silence. Miriam’s eyes are more than half-closed. Naomi and Yael stare off into space, each lost in thought. Crowley tightens his grip on Aziraphale’s hand.

“To be quite frank,” Aziraphale says, “We’ve been rather concerned about how you’ll react to the information.”

Yael raises an eyebrow. “You mean, now that we’ve stopped laughing and it’s starting to actually sink in that you’re straight out of Bereishit?”

“And contradicting all the scientific theories that we believe in?” adds Naomi.

“Precisely.”

“It is a lot to wrap our heads around,” Yael admits. “But I think it’s something we can deal with. It’s hardly the first time I’ve held two contradictory ideas in my head at the same time.”

“In a sense, I’m not even sure that it matters,” says Naomi. “I mean, we still live in a world that mostly conforms to science, even if it is an elaborate prank. It’s like the question of whether we’re living in a simulation!” She waves her hands around. “If the simulation is good enough, then it doesn’t actually matter.”

“Yeah, but we’re here bringing you proof that your god exists and your holy book is true!” Crowley pauses. “Well, mostly true. Doesn’t that change things?”

Aziraphale looks at him with concern. “Crowley, I’m not sure we need to force the issue right now.” Crowley ignores him.

“You’re always curious about things, always asking questions! And I know you take your religion seriously. _You’re_ a rabbi, for Satan’s sake!”

“More for my own sake,” says Yael. He glares at her.

“So why don’t you _care?_ ” he snaps. Yael just regards him calmly.

“Crowley, are you _trying_ to convince us to have a crisis of faith?”

Crowley draws back for a moment, worried, but then sees that both women are smiling at him. He shrugs. “Ss’what I do. Professionally, I mean. Just told you that.”

“Maybe I should loan you one of my books on maintaining a healthy work-life balance,” says Naomi.

Yael starts to say, “Okay, but jokes aside—“ before Naomi interrupts her.

“Who said I was joking?”

Yael rolls her eyes. “Fine, possibly sincere offers of self help books aside, we _are_ taking it seriously. But our first concern is your well-being, and what telling us your story means for you two. After that, we can think about what it means for us. We’ve talked about the story of Eden with you before, remember? And we didn’t need to treat it as literal to make sense of it.”

“Are you saying you don’t believe us?” says Crowley, feeling hurt. He’d spent all this time—years!—worrying about the consequences of telling the truth. Being doubted would in many ways be the easiest resolution to the problem, but it had somehow not occurred to him that these two could just…not believe him.

“Not exactly,” says Naomi.

Crowley waits. That’s not the sincere denial he was hoping for.

“Hm. How to say this?” Naomi’s mouth contorts into odd shapes whenever she’s thinking hard about something, as she is now. “So, things can be true in different ways, right?”

“I…suppose,” says Aziraphale, though he sounds a bit doubtful. Crowley just nods.

Yael picks up the thread. “We can believe that this is something real that happened in your lives, and treat it as such, while continuing to let it occupy a more…metaphorical place in our larger worldview.” She pauses for a moment, then adds, “Of course, this is just our initial reaction to something that is going to take a lot of thought and discussion. So I can’t promise this answer won’t change. But it won’t change how we feel about you.”

Crowley is still dissatisfied. He’s built up so much anxiety over their potential reaction that their refusal to be upset with him is itself somewhat distressing. He’s not sure why, but he keeps pushing. 

“So if Aziraphale summoned the Metatron right here in this house—“

“—Which I am _not_ doing—“ interjects Aziraphale

“And he says, ‘THIS IS THE WORD OF GOD’,” Crowley pauses for a breath he doesn’t actually need, and Naomi jumps in.

“Still a secondary source.”

Aziraphale smiles. “That’s precisely what I said the last time we spoke. Like a presidential spokesman.”

Naomi grins back. “Exactly!”

“ _Fine_ ,” says Crowley. He should have known that it would be impossible to keep this group on topic, especially when they all have tension to blow off from the evening’s conversation. But he still wants answers, because otherwise there’s going to be this formless anxiety following him around, waiting for the misunderstanding to resolve in the worst possible way. “So if God’s own voice comes down,”

“How do we know it’s God?” asks Naomi.

“Trust me,” Crowley says, closing his eyes against the bleak memory of the last time he heard that voice. “You know.”

Naomi must read something in his face, because she gives him a worried look and subsides. Crowley continues, “So you hear God’s voice, telling the same story with the garden and the apple, and saying that the whole dinosaur thing is just a joke. Then what?”

Naomi’s sudden grin banishes most of the worry from her face, though Crowley can still see it in the corners of her eyes.

“Then we say ‘ _It is not in Heaven_.’”

“Huh?” Confused, he looks over at Aziraphale, who’s frowning as if trying to remember something.

“She’s quoting.” Yael gives her wife a fond smile.

“Quoting what?”

“Well,” says Yael, “Do you know the story of the Oven of Akhnai?

“It does sound vaguely familiar…” says Aziraphale.

Crowley shakes his head. “A snake oven?” he asks.

“Not exactly,” Naomi says. “The snake part is metaphorical.”

“Sure, but metaphorical for what? Is it a reference to me?”

“No, not at all,” says Yael. “It might be easier to explain after we tell you the main story.”

Miriam straightens out of her drowsy slouch. “Ooh, ooh, can I tell it?” At Yael’s nod, she begins.

“Okay, so, there was the Rabbi…Akiva?”

“Eliezer,” says Yael. “Akiva’s teacher.”

“Right! So Rabbi Eliezer and all the other rabbis are arguing about whether one kind of oven was ritually pure. And Eliezer says, ‘If I’m right, let this tree prove it!’ And the tree gets up and moves.’”

Crowley looks over at Aziraphale. “Were you involved in this?”

“No, actually, though I do remember hearing about it afterwards.”

Miriam glares at them in mock-annoyance, and they go quiet.

“Like I was _saying_ , the tree moved, but all the other rabbis were unimpressed. Because it’s not like _trees_ know anything about kosher ovens. So Rabbi Eliezer tries again. ‘If I’m right, the stream will prove it!’ And the stream starts flowing backwards. But again, the other rabbis aren’t convinced, because streams aren’t experts on halakha either.”

Crowley is pretty sure he knows where this is going, but he stays quiet, enjoying Miriam’s dramatic hand gestures as she tells the story.

“So Eliezer says ‘The walls will prove it!’ and the walls start bending down on the room.”

”That sounds dangerous,” comments Aziraphale.

“It was! So one of the other rabbis tells the walls, ‘We’re important scholars having a serious debate about the Torah, mind your own business.’ And the walls stop falling. They don’t stand back up though, because they still respect Rabbi Eliezer, even if they agree with the other rabbi that they shouldn’t interfere. So then Eliezer says, ‘If I’m right, Heaven will prove it!’ And a voice comes down from heaven and says, ‘Rabbi Eliezer is always right!’ And that’s when one of the other rabbis says ‘It is not in heaven.’”

“Which means?” Naomi prompts her daughter.

“Which means, You gave the Torah to people on earth, and it’s ours now. It’s not in heaven. It’s here. We have to work out what it means for ourselves. _And_ we’re supposed to decide things fairly, not just side with the powerful. So even though God sided with Rabbi Eliezer, the two of them were still outvoted, and they lost the argument.”

“So that’s why you dragged me into the synagogue,” Crowley says to Miriam.

“I dragged you to the synagogue because I wanted you to hear my Torah reading. But this is why I knew it would work.”

“The rest of the story is actually pretty sad,” says Yael, “About ostracism and punishment.”

“I like the part about the gates of Heaven always being open to victims of verbal abuse, though,” says Naomi.

Yael nods. “Me too. But the point is, we get to figure this out for ourselves. We’ll need time to think about it, and talk it over, and work out what it means to us.” She smiles. “And we _will_ ask you plenty of questions, I promise. I expect I’ll be asking you questions about this for the rest of my life.”

Crowley closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to think about their lives being finite.

“Okay, yes, sure, happy to answer, but…” he trails off for a moment, then gathers his courage. “Are you really okay with this? I mean, us? I mean, with me? He’s an angel, that’s fine, but I’m a _demon_. Evil. You know?”

“We don’t know, actually.” With her head cocked to one side like that, Naomi looks like an inquisitive bird. “What exactly _is_ a demon?”

Crowley scowls, already wishing he hadn’t brought it up.

“We’re the opposite of angels. Hereditary enemies and all that.” It’s not enough of an answer, and he knows it. “I used to be an angel, right? But then we had to pick sides. And I asked the wrong questions—which was any question, back in those days. At least if you asked too many of them. Which I did. And so I just sort of sauntered off in the wrong direction, made what I thought were just minor decisions, and then everything was sulfur and maggots and leaky pipes.”

Naomi makes a face. “Sounds miserable.”

“It was. Is. Not that I’m welcome down there anymore either.”

There’s silence as everyone regards him with sympathy. Crowley doesn’t want sympathy, he wants…okay, he has no idea what he wants, but it’s definitely not sympathy. Sympathy turns into pity and pity turns into distaste and then eventually into disgust and rejection. He’d rather skip straight to the end.

Oh. _That’s_ what he wants: to get the inevitable over with.

“I’ve done bad things, you know,” he says with a tinge of desperation. “Not just the rebellion and the thing with the apple. I’ve tempted people into sin. Lots of times. Tarnished their souls all sorts of ways. I shut down the entire London mobile exchange just so that people would be mean to each other!”

“Did it work?” Naomi asks.

“Yes! Probably. I don’t know, I ended up kind of busy delivering the Antichrist that night.”

“That is definitely one of the many things I will have questions about,” says Yael. “But not tonight.”

“Why not?” asks Crowley, sliding from desperate into sullen.

“Well, for one thing, it’s quarter to one, and even though it’s the weekend, we do need to sleep eventually.” She glances over at Miriam, who has dozed off again. “But also, right now I’m more curious why you’re trying to make us mad at you.”

“Am not,” mutters Crowley.

“ _Are_ you angry with us?” asks Aziraphale. The angel sounds less worried than Crowley, but there’s still a bit of unease in his voice, and Crowley suspects that the arm Aziraphale wraps around him is to reassure both of them.

“Not really,” says Naomi. “I mean, I get why you didn’t tell us.”

“And we’re not going to hate you for being a demon,” says Yael. “If anything, I’m angry on your behalf. It doesn’t sound fair to you at all.” There’s a bitter edge to her smile as she continues, “But if we start getting into reasons to be angry at God, we really will be up all night.”

“We’ve known you for fourteen years,” Naomi adds. “You like stupid petty pranks, but you don’t enjoy hurting people. You’re not cruel.”

“I could be, if I wanted to.” Crowley’s not sure why he’s arguing at this point. Ironically, he’s never really liked playing devil’s advocate. But here he is, still trying to get the worst to just happen already.

“So?” asks Miriam with a yawn. “I mean, yeah, you _could_ be evil, but you’re not. Isn’t that the same as everyone?”

“But I’m not human!” He waves at Aziraphale. “Neither of us are. We’re inherently good and evil. We’re not supposed to have free will.”

Sometimes when they argue, some new point will occur to Yael, and her face will light up with a rare radiant joy, like it does right now.

“Crowley. _You’re_ not in heaven either. Neither of you are.”

Naomi nods emphatically “Yes! You were sent to earth, and now you get to be part of the debate.” She grins. “That shouldn’t be a problem for you guys.”

“And you’re _ours_ ,” says Miriam, determination warring with sleepiness on her face. “Both of you. If God disagrees, too bad, He’s outnumbered.” Her declaration is only slightly undercut by the jaw-cracking yawn at the end.

Miriam’s yawn elicits one from Crowley that truly is jaw-cracking, wider than any human mouth can go. It’s possible that he’s still testing them, just a bit, still looking to be convinced that they mean it. But none of the humans is impressed. Miriam has seen this trick many times before, Yael just raises an eyebrow, and Naomi grins.

“Sleepy, huh?” she asks.

“Yeah,” he admits.

Yael stands up. “Okay, bedtime for everyone, even those of us who don’t need to sleep.” She shoots a significant look at Aziraphale.

“No argument here,” the angel says, helping Crowley to his feet.

Naomi gently elbows Crowley as they walk past her. “Sleep well, Noodle.” He hisses at her, and she laughs.

Not everything can be resolved in a night. The five of them will probably be arguing about these subjects for years to come, as many years as they have together. (That’s also an issue for another night.) But he’s looking forward to the arguments, even though he knows that he’ll probably get carried away sometimes and reveal more than he intends. It doesn’t matter. He’s been revealing too much for years now. He pushes and pushes and nothing breaks. Naomi and Yael and Miriam keep telling him they they accept him, that he and Aziraphale have a place with them, that they have a right to be here. And Crowley knows that they won’t be swayed by all the rivers and trees and crumbling walls in the world.

Even God Herself would have to present a convincing case. Now _there’s_ an argument he’d be interested in hearing.

“What is it?” Aziraphale asks, seeing Crowley’s sudden grin.

“Just imagining our humans demanding an explanation for…” he waves a vague hand, then climbs into bed.

Aziraphale smiles back at him, then grows thoughtful. “I just remembered something about the oven incident,” he says. “I wasn’t there, but I heard about it from several other angels, all of whom were quite puzzled by the Allmighty’s reaction.”

“Please don’t say it was ineffable.”

Aziraphale shakes his head as settles down next to Crowley. “Oh no. Apparently, She laughed and said ‘My children have bested me, My children have bested me.’”

Crowley feels a complex tangle of emotions. It’s funny, of course it’s funny. And he’s proud of the humans, for out-arguing God like that. The human tendency to treat genuine miracles as trivial annoyances is one of his favorite things about them, rivaled only by the equally human tendency to invest mundane occurrences with life-altering significance. But there’s envy too, that the humans received indulgent amusement where Crowley had lost everything. Almost everything. Something, anyway. Something that he still misses, a lack he’ll always feel. It’s not everything, but it is a real loss. He doesn’t regret his choices, but it’s hard not to feel a bit resentful, that others could question and rebel without losing that love. Then again, he remembers Yael’s earlier comment about reasons to be angry at God. It’s not as if the humans always have it easy either.

Aziraphale takes one look at his face and doesn’t say anything, just opens his arms, and Crowley leans against him until he’s practically in the angel’s lap. Aziraphale presses a kiss into his hair, and then when Crowley tilts his face up, another one on his lips, and Crowley spends a few minutes not thinking about humans at all.

Until something occurs to him.

“Hey!” he says, sitting up in indignation. “They never explained the snake part.”

“Naomi said it was metaphorical, didn’t she?”

“Yeah, but a metaphor for _what?”_

“I suppose you’ll have to ask them tomorrow morning.”

He will, too. Tomorrow morning he’ll be the last one downstairs, and everyone will tease him for sleeping in, probably even more now that they know he doesn’t actually need sleep. There will be coffee, and he’ll give his bagel to Aziraphale after a couple of bites, and he’ll ask about the snake and then they can all argue about whether the interpretation is accurate and whether it’s a good metaphor. Or maybe they’ll find something else to argue about instead. It doesn’t actually matter. The important thing is that he’s here, and he gets to take part.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! And thank you to everyone who has left comments on this series--I know it sometimes takes me a few weeks to actually reply (I get anxious), but they always make me happy for days afterward.


End file.
